


princess suit + adidas jumper.

by thatlavendersweater



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, Harry is a Little Shit, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, Louis and Harry are basically meant to be, M/M, Niall is a hopeless friend, There's a bit of Zarry, They're pretty much all little shits, Zayn is a little shit, but that's okay because, in the best way of course, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-04-12 12:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19131682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatlavendersweater/pseuds/thatlavendersweater
Summary: Louis looked up again and sighed out a smile, a fond defeat eminent in his ocean eyes. “Yes, you’re a pretty boy.”A giggle sounded from Harry’s mouth and Louis’ gaze snapped up to meet Harry’s in a blurry second.“How have I never noticed that you’ve got fucking dimples?” Louis murmured, voice all breathy and soft and making Harry’s tummy turn in an odd way.____it's a case of mistaken assumptions, oblivious circumstances, and chest-crushing emotions. harry's a fine arts major because he likes to wear sheer floral blouses and high-waisted trousers. niall's his roommate because he's an absolute sunspot of comfort and friendship and he keeps harry sane. liam's a straight boy who's too pretty for his own good. zayn's an illustration major who's personal mission is to add boys, specifically himself, to liam's sexuality spectrum. zayn and harry are close, and probably too close for their own good. and louis. louis is the prettiest of them all, at least according to harry, and he has boyish charm that makes harry's knees weak. but that might also be another doomed dream, because harry is way too close to zayn, and louis might be snogging other boys because of it.





	1. Chapter 1

Old band posters that were rolling at the corners made up most of Harry’s university dorm wall. He didn’t even listen to half of them but he liked the way they looked all faded and old against the otherwise plain white drywall. Plain things didn’t sit well with him. He liked things to be full of life and character. A room with plain walls and a bare mattress wasn’t his style. But his roommate was quite the opposite. Big blue eyes that seemed to hold the entire world’s worth of happiness in their eyes. He was Irish and Harry wondered why the hell he came all the way to Manchester but it’s not that he was complaining. Because, well, Niall was quite the charmer and Harry realized that was something he needed in order to survive uni.

But. Niall had a tendency to _inhale_ food rather than eat it like the normal average person. As a result, Harry found himself going outside for groceries more often than he intended to. His roommate was of average height and his legs were perplexingly skinny so Harry was baffled as to where exactly the food went. But he loved cooking for the both of them nonetheless so he supposed it was a win-win. Mostly.

“Harry,” Niall called from their shared bathroom. His voice was tinny from the tiled acoustics a bathroom usually possesses.

“Yeah,” Harry called back. He was in the middle of studying for a daunting test in his modern arts class (honestly, who puts a test three weeks into the semester) and his hair was a disheveled mess from running his fingers through it frantically. He just couldn’t understand the purpose of the abstract. What the fuck was he supposed to do if an artist decided to make a sculpture of a head that looked more like his mother’s horrid attempts at making Christmas pudding?

“Harry!” the boy sounded a little more distressed now and Harry snapped himself out of his rapidly growing frustration.

“Yes, yes,” Harry muttered under his breath as he got up from his bed and ran the three steps it took to get to their bathroom. “Yes, Niall, what exactly do you want?”

A sheepish looking Niall peeked through a slight crack in the door. “A towel would do I reckon.”

Harry stared at him. “You’re in your first year of uni, for Christ’s sake Niall!”

Niall flushed a terrible red that made his damp blond hair look almost platinum. “Sorry Haz.”

Harry crossed his arms and tapped his foot like his mother would if he were in this position. “Right.”

Niall winced. “Won’t happen again, swear on me mother.”

Harry wrinkled his nose as he went to go fetch Niall’s towel. “Don’t do that.”

“Thanks, Haz,” Niall smiled warmly and winked before shutting the door.

Harry shook his head. He was endeared and they both knew that. God help him if he didn’t have Niall in his life. Whoever decided to put them two together was some sort of messiah because Harry couldn’t have asked for a better match. He was hopelessly grateful.

“You’ll be glad to hear there’s another party down over at Calum’s flat. Nice bloke,” Niall came walking out in a pair of white briefs and his head buried in a towel. Harry winced sharply as the lad stumbled over a pile of Harry’s miscellaneous books and clothes and landed arse up on the ground.

“Fuck,” a muffled Irish voice sounded from amid the books and abundant pairs of black ripped jeans. Harry let out a soft giggle as he got up from the bed and held his arm out to a rumpled looking, half-naked Niall.

“I hate you,” he grumbled, taking Harry’s hand and giving it a sharp tug that nearly knocked him off balance before standing up laboriously.

“You too, mate,” Harry grinned cheekily, dimples on full display and eyes sparkling with mischief. Niall scoffed and muttered something under his breath (probably a colorful string of ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s and a particularly emphasized ‘twat’ directed at Harry).

“So what’s it about this party?” Harry asked, settling back onto his bed amid his open books and sprawling notes.

Niall shrugged, wincing in pain when he pressed a timid palm against his elbow. “Fuck, it hurts. Harry, I’ve broken it. I’ve broken me elbow.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re fine, mate.”

“I’ve got a broken elbow! I’m not fine, Harold!” he started flailing his arms, glaring at Harry with wide blue eyes.

“You’ve not got a broken elbow, Niall,” Harry mumbled to himself.

“Harry!”

“Alright!” he got up from his spot and approached Niall with the sort of countenance of a mildly inconvenienced grandmother.

Niall held his gaze with watery blue eyes and Harry couldn’t help the fondness in his eye roll before he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against his roommate’s elbow.

“Better?” he asked softly. Niall nodded, reminiscent of a five year-old child and Harry awarded him a brief, impish smile.

“It’s tonight.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Niall nodded, “Yeah.”

“Bugger,” Harry pouted, “I’ve got this stupid abstract art test tomorrow and I haven’t got a single clue as to how exactly I’m going to pass it.”

“But you’ll still be coming.”

Again, Harry raised his eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

Niall smirked, an odd look for the lad’s face seeing as it was usually filled with unadulterated happiness.

“Because Louis is gonna be there.”

Harry froze.

Oh. Well. _Oh_.

“Oh.”

Niall cackled. “Mate, you’re going and you know it.”

Harry blinked dumbly, images of the blue-eyed pretty boy already flashing through his mind at uncontrollable speeds.

“Harry? Mate? Haz?”

Harry blinked again, effectively extinguishing the flitting images, and found Niall looking at him with mild concern painted across his pale features.

“Yeah?”

Niall chuckled softly. “You little shit. Getting lost in your funny little mind again. I’m off to class in a bit. You want to head over together tonight?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be here pretty much all day. I’ve only got a lecture around three or so.”

“Lucky bastard,” Niall grunted as he flopped onto his bed.

“Put a shirt on you ugly boy,” Harry teased with a slight drawl. He managed to dodge the pillow Niall threw at him but, inherently clumsy as he was, he yelped as he fell back against the hard corners of his open textbooks and notebooks.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve got a prettier face than you, Harold,” Niall mused with a slight mocking quality to his tone. Harry paled and shot up. He leveled Niall with a deadly look.

“You take that back,” he all but growled. Niall smirked and shook his head.

“I’m prettier than you Harold, and you’ve just got to—”

“I’m clearly the prettier one, Niall. You’re just,” Harry flailed his arm in the general direction of the boy while he paused for the right word, “You’re just. You’re just cute. Adorable. Like a puppy dog or summat.”

Niall shook his head before pulling on a shirt and trousers and swinging his bag over his shoulder. Harry slumped and threw himself onto the blond lad. They both tumbled to the ground and Harry ended up with his face squished into the slight softness of Niall’s tummy.

“Bloody hell,” the lad muttered and Harry grinned into the soft pudge, nuzzling it slightly and making Niall squirm.

“‘M ticklish, y’know,” Niall muffled his voice against Harry’s brown mop of hair, “And you’re an awfully cuddly lad.”

“I’m prettier than you,” Harry spoke softly, lifting his head up and smiling. He kept his eyes closed, feeling serene and loved as Niall awkwardly pet at his curls.

“Alright, you narcissistic princess,” he said before unceremoniously pushing Harry away and standing up.

Harry beamed as Niall ruffled his hair with a fond snort and made for the door.

“I’ll see ya tonight, mate,” Niall called out as he left the door to shut behind him. Harry winced at the loud slam of the wooden door before curling in on himself.

He spent the next two hours whining in his mind about _why the hell does university even exist?_ and _who the hell switches into fine art as a degree anyway?_.

Well, his professor could go artfully fuck himself because Harry was starting to not give two shits about his academic performance. If it took so much effort to be an art major, why get a degree at all?

Of course, he probably would’ve dropped the class and given up by now if it weren’t for Louis Tomlinson. The boy who sat right in front of him every class and almost never failed to turn around, offer a heart-stopping smirk, and ask for a pencil.

Harry was in love and it was the only thing keeping him from reinventing his career choices and giving up education altogether. Well. That and his mom might just cut all his hair off and cart him out to a farm up north in the mountains if he ever did and Harry wasn’t particularly fond of that idea. She had already been a bit put off when he’d told her he was switching paths his second year. She’d given him an, albeit half-hearted, rap upside the head before proceeding to purposefully put too much sugar in his tea—another thing he wasn’t too fond of.

Louis, however. Harry was _very_ fond of Louis. Of his depthless blue eyes. Of his thin, impossibly pink lips. Of his feathery, brown locks that brushed against the top of his thin, arched eyebrows. Of his loud, brilliant laughter that could easily fill a cathedral and echo on forever in boyish bliss. Of all the wonder and beauty that made up his delicate wrists and devastating cheekbones. Harry was in love with the boy and he hadn’t even heard him in proper conversation. He must be hilarious though. He must be, Harry was sure of it. What with the mischievous smirk that always seemed to be painted across his lips. Not that Harry was always looking at his lips. In fact, the only part Harry found himself staring at was the back of the boy’s head. And he could attest with full confidence to the truth that Louis Tomlinson had the prettiest head of any boy or girl Harry had ever seen. Pretty enough to kiss gently and press his nose into.

————

Blue and green lights danced across the low-lit room, casting shadows on the ceiling and the people writhing together on the makeshift dance floor. Harry was slightly uncomfortable with the hot, heavy atmosphere but applied himself nonetheless, drinking without hesitation and getting questionably high.

“Harreh, my boy,” Zayn laughed from beside him. They were currently all sat on a couch, Zayn and Harry squished together in a plush, velvet chair with Niall, Liam, and some boy named Matty laying on top of each other in a disheveled, drunken mess.

Harry beamed at his friend and nodded to the blunt currently rolled up in between Zayn’s thumb and forefinger.

“Can I’ve some, eh?” Harry slurred out with a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“Yeah, mate,” Zayn said, his accent thicker than the sweet smoke surrounding them. They shared the blunt until Harry found himself laying his head on Zayn’s shoulder and licking his earlobe in absolute ecstasy.

“Harreh!” Zayn giggled, hiding his ear away from Harry’s outstretched tongue. “Stop it, ya silly fucker!”

“I think I love you, Zayn,” Harry whispered loudly into Zayn’s ear, all breath and dramatized inflection.

Zayn cleared his throat, a sudden mocking seriousness taking over his face. “I’m fucking flattered, Harreh. But I reckon you shouldn’t say things like that in front of my future boyfriend.”

Harry frowned. “Are we future boyfriends?”

Zayn giggled again. He leaned in comically close, whispering, and Harry watched him with wide, curious eyes. “Leeyum, right.”

Harry’s mouth formed an “o”, realization blooming slowly across his features.

“Right, right,” he said sluggishly. “Good choice.”

Zayn nodded happily, as if to agree with Harry’s statement.

————

It was much later. Much, much later. They were no longer lazily getting high but instead moving filthily on the slowly emptying dancefloor. Harry had not seen Louis yet and while he was disappointed, he was sure he looked a right mess at the moment so maybe it was for the better.

Currently, he had Zayn grinding against his back with fluid, reckless movements that revealed just how intoxicated the boy was. They were moving together, movements sloppy but carefree. Nothing was heavy anymore. The body heat was no longer suffocating, but embracing. Harry was loving it.

“Harreh?”

Harry turned around at Zayn’s earnest voice.

“Yeah, Zee?”

“Are you future boyfriends with anyone?”

Harry frowned. “Nobody but you, Zaynie.”

“Right,” the boy drawled, bringing his hands up to tangle sensually in his dark hair.

“What is it?” Harry questioned, eyeing the way Zayn’s fingers ran through his locks. He wanted someone to do that to his hair, run their hands through every knot with gentle touches.

“I just found you one. Reckon he’s cute but m’too drunk to decide for sure.”

Harry whipped his head in the direction of Zayn’s gaze and almost crumpled into Zayn’s body.

“Louis,” he breathed out softly, keeping his gaze locked on the other boy’s beautifully angular face.

“Oh you know him, then?” Zayn’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

Harry nodded, still staring with unabashed longing.

“Of course,” he smiled softly as Louis laughed at something and proceeded to throw his head back impossibly far, so much that his back arched prettily and Harry forgot how to breathe.

“Should be grinding on him then, instead of my fat arse,” Zayn laughed, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth and eyes crinkling adorably. Harry grinned.

“You’ve not got an arse, Zaynie,” he teased, reaching around and slapping it once before detaching himself from the dark-haired lad.

“Louis certainly does,” Zayn winked, making Harry blush shamefully and nod in agreement. The tall boy made his way clumsily through the waning crowd of people. After he ungracefully stumbled off the dance floor, he bee-lined for the drinks and grabbed a can of some obscure beer. Without a second thought, he opened the can with a sharp pop and downed two strong gulps, wincing at the bitter taste. His head felt fuzzy as he looked down at the label on the can and made a mental note to avoid it in the future. It tasted awful, like when he accidentally got shampoo in his mouth the other day while showering. His face scrunched up and he whined before downing the rest of the drink and setting it on some random surface.

“Harry Edward Styles!”

Harry whirled around at the unmistakable Irish accent. Niall had a finger pointing menacingly at him, and Harry would’ve reacted accordingly, only the blonde boy seemed to be entirely inebriated.

“I reckon you owe me a dance, ugly boy,” his roommate slurred, stretching his hand out invitingly. Not a second later, Niall’s face brightened into a loopy, drunken smile before he slumped forward into Harry’s body. The unexpected weight of the nineteen year-old on top of him caused Harry’s knees to buckle and they both went crashing down into the ice coolers and tables full of drinks behind them.

“Fuck me!” Niall screeched and Harry moaned obnoxiously loud, pain searing through his lower back.

“Fuck, Niall,” Harry whined, pushing the lad off of him and wincing as he sat up. His bum hurt too, along with his elbow and right side of his head.

“Harry, I’ve broken meself. M’body’s been hurt, Harold,” Niall flailed pathetically, looking up at Harry with red rimmed eyes, “It’s been hurt badly.”

Harry rolled his eyes, not in the mood to indulge his roommate. “Fuck off, Niall.”

His drunken high was long gone, the fuzziness in his head slightly clearing up. He ran a shaky hand through his locks to find them drenched in some sweet smelling liquid, some random mixed drink he figured. His mood plummeted further as he realized his bum was soaked as well, his jeans unpleasantly stuck to his arse and thighs as he sat in a puddle of ice water. He put his hand down to balance himself and yelped at a sharp pain. He looked down at his palm to find a blossoming pebble of blood where his thumb met the rest of his hand.

“Are you okay?”

Harry looked up, squinting, at the source of the soft, tinkling voice and caught his breath.

Louis Tomlinson, in all his boyish glory, was stood over him with an outstretched hand and a deliciously concerned smile on his lips.

“I’m broken,” Niall whimpered dramatically to Harry’s right. Louis frowned and let out a forced chuckle that made Harry’s insides go all mushy.

“I’m bleeding,” Harry offered dumbly, holding out his palm. A cute little furrow formed in between Louis’ eyebrows as he looked down at Harry’s bleeding hand and suddenly Harry wanted to throw himself into the nearest ocean.

He was talking to Louis Tomlinson, for fucks sake. He should be acting all suave and nonchalant, and instead he was sat with his arse drenched in fucking freezing water while he showed off his mildly bleeding hand like a toddler to his mum.

“Oh fuck,” Louis raised an eyebrow and crouched down to Harry’s level to examine the minor cut. He took Harry’s hand in his own and Harry had to stop breathing when the warmth from Louis’ delicate fingers seeped into his palm.

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry stuttered out, completely entranced with the way their hands fit together.

Louis made a protesting noise that ignited something in him, completely unknown.

“What for?” Louis asked softly, blue eyes still scanning Harry’s palm like it was a medical mystery. He sighed after a moment more of examination and stood up, keeping his gentle grip on the other boy’s hand. Harry got up gingerly, almost slipping on the slick floor.

“Careful there, love,” Louis smiled and Harry’s eyes widened at the pure beauty in front of him. He nodded in affirmation when his legs found stability and Louis’ smile brightened before he beckoned him to walk. Harry followed behind Louis (he totally didn’t stare at Louis’ ass the whole walk over) and found himself alone in a bathroom with the other boy.

Oh, hell. He was in a small, cramped bathroom. Alone. With Louis Tomlinson.

“Let’s wash it off, shall we?” Louis spoke softly, a small smile gracing his lips as he turned the faucet and gently placed Harry’s hand under the running water.

“Thank you,” Harry murmured, watching the water turn a light pink from the blood. It was quite scary just how much blood was exiting such a small cut in his hand. But the moment was too soft and peaceful to interrupt with medical concerns.

Louis laughed, a soft breathy sigh of laughter that made Harry grin brilliantly.

“It’s quite alright,” the blue-eyed boy said. Harry might’ve swooned a little at the sound of his voice but he was too busy nearly collapsing at Louis’ next words:

“It’s my pleasure to help out pretty boys in need.”

Okay, _wow_.

Louis winced a second after. “That sounded much more perverted out loud than it did in my mind, didn’t it?”

Harry shook his head, a shit eating grin plastered on his lips. Louis quirked an eyebrow, staring somewhere on the left of Harry’s face.

“I’m a pretty boy in need?” Harry asked shyly, his words coming out all wide and breathy because he couldn’t stop fucking smiling.

“Christ, don’t say it like that.” The other boy grimaced at the bleeding cut on Harry’s hand. He looked up again and sighed out a smile, a fond defeat eminent in his ocean eyes. “Yes, you’re a pretty boy.”

A giggle sounded from Harry’s mouth and Louis’ gaze snapped up to meet Harry’s in a blurry second.

“How have I never noticed that you’ve got fucking dimples?” Louis murmured, voice all breathy and soft and making Harry’s tummy turn in an odd way.

“You remember me?” Harry asked, pouting in slight apprehension.

“I couldn’t forget you even if I tried,” Louis mused, casting Harry an appreciative glance.

“You remember?” Harry asked again, more hopefully this time. Louis offered a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, sure. I remember your pretty hair,” Louis took a lock of hair and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger before letting it fall through his fingers.

“Yeah?” Harry looked down shyly, an excited smile plastered to his face and a blush running high on his cheeks.

Louis laughed. “I would be right fucking stupid not to remember your face, curly. I really would.”

Harry nodded, as if agreeing to this statement—an assurance that yes, if Louis had seen him and consequently forgot about him, he would in fact be a proper twat.

“You’d be a proper twat. I give you a pencil almost every class, you know? That’s an important role I play in your life.”

Louis chuckled and poked at Harry’s left cheek teasingly. “Yeah, curly.”

Harry beamed, glowing with the need to gather all the sunshine that made up this boy into his arms and hold on for the rest of their lives.

Fuck, Harry was so _fond_ of Louis.

“I think we’re good, curly,” Louis observed, taking Harry’s hand from under the water and setting it gently on the cold marble countertop. “The bleeding’s been stopped, I suppose.”

Harry looked at Louis gravely, an artificial seriousness schooling his features.

“Does this mean I will live?” he asked, purposefully cracking his voice. A small flicker of a smirk played across Louis’ lips before the other lad was joining in on the playacting.

“There’s a chance, darling.”

Harry stared for a moment longer before the excitement at the pet name overwhelmed him and he involuntarily let out a few gleeful giggles.

“I’d be really sad if you were to leave me, curly. Don’t think I quite like the idea of you dying on me in this fucking dingy bathroom,” Louis spoke softly and with a heart-breaking smirk painted beautifully across his lips.

Harry nodded. “Don’t think I quite like the idea either.”

“What? The dying or the leaving?” Louis smirked. Harry took note of just how thick the boy’s accent was.

“Yeah,” he nodded, holding Louis’ gaze.

It was quite heavy for a moment. Light-hearted, but heavy. Like Harry could swipe his hand in the air and cut into it. Like whipped butter.

“Love?” Louis spoke softly, his eyes wandering down to Harry’s left cheek.

Harry nodded.

Louis looked up for a brief moment. “Smile for me?”

Harry was confused. Why would he want him to smile? He didn’t feel like it was the right time to be smiling. He felt like it was the right time to be kissing or something. Kissing Louis.

Harry smiled. A bit awkwardly, but wide and genuine nonetheless.

“There it is,” Louis breathed, bringing his hand up and pressing his thumb into the dimple on Harry’s cheek.

Harry watched with wide, attentive eyes, as Louis leaned in and brushed his thumb across Harry’s lower lip.

“I kind of want to—” Louis’ breath caught before he could finish and Harry blinked slowly.

“I think I do, too,” he said slowly, slower than the molasses that usually coated his voice.

Louis whimpered, softly, in the back of his throat as he pressed Harry’s bottom lip in between his thumb and forefinger.

“I really fucking want to.”

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice was breathy and eager, “Me, too.”

It happened fast. He lapped his tongue out instinctually, coating the tip of Louis’ thumb in a slight sheen of saliva. He honestly didn’t mean to, but he wasn’t complaining at the way the other boy’s gaze followed the movement.

“Fucking hell, darling,” Louis whispered hoarsely, a pint of desperate awe on his breath.

“HARREH!”

The door banged open, nearly smashing Harry against the opposite wall. They both flinched hard and when Harry looked up at the figure in the doorway he saw a dramatically concerned Zayn with his hair all mussed up and avid worry splayed across his sweaty (but still infuriatingly perfect) face.

“Zee? What the fu—”

“My baby! My everything!” Zayn wailed while he yanked Harry into him and stroked his hair in a motherly way that made Harry giggle.

“What’s happened, Zaynie?”

Zayn sniffled obnoxiously. “I saw you fall. Then that bloke I told you to get it on with took you away. I didn’t know if you were okay,” he babbled drunkenly.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Zee, you’re off your face.”

“I care about you Harreh,” Zayn sobbed into Harry’s hair.

“Alright, alright.”

Louis’ eyes sparkled when Harry looked up at him from Zayn’s suffocating embrace.

“Have you got yourself one, then?”

Harry frowned. “What?”

Louis nodded to where Zayn was currently pressing doting kisses across Harry’s collarbone.

“I love you, H, I love you,” Zayn declared against Harry’s skin and he wanted to shove the dark haired lad off for a second so he could properly understand Louis.

But Zayn clung to him, sticking his armpit in Harry’s face while he sloppily snuggled into Harry’s body.

“Zayn, what’re you trying to do, mate—”

“I feel free when I’m with you, Harreh.”

Harry groaned when Zayn squeezed him around his lower back. Louis let out an amused chuckle and Harry couldn’t help but flip him off from underneath Zayn’s overzealous embrace.

“I think I’ll let you two find your way to the bedrooms upstairs,” Louis sang with a deadly smirk painted across his lips and a dangerous mischief twinkling in his pretty ocean eyes.

Harry spluttered. He wanted to yell that Louis was the one he wanted to stumble into a bedroom with but before he could do something as stupid as that, Zayn yelped and tripped over Harry’s feet and the tall boy went crashing down to the floor for the second time that night.

————

“I’m telling you, Harold. He’s into me.”

Zayn had a thick Yorkshire that was sometimes hard for even Harry to understand. But right now it was just the older boy’s mind that he couldn’t quite get a grasp on.

“He’s what?”

“He’s into me, Harold.”

Harry rolled his eyes. They were obviously talking about Liam, but the boy was as straight as possible, and no matter how gorgeous Zayn’s eyelashes were, he was still one of the lads. And Liam was really not into lads.

“Right, mate,” Harry scoffed, sending Zayn a tiny glare before he adjusted his bag strap on his shoulder.

“What? He’s properly into me. I can feel it, see it,” Zayn closed his eyes, a blissful expression crossing his face.

“Piss off,” Harry sighed, unable to stop himself from grinning at the ridiculousness that made up Zayn Malik.

They were best mates, they were. Like him and Niall. But for some reason Harry felt more of a kinship with the older lad. They had met in their studio art class, where Zayn was a star student. They were a year apart, but Harry found himself spending more time with him than anyone from his year (except for Niall, of course). In fact, Harry felt most comfortable when they were having a laugh over professors or sharing crisps while studying or summat.

“You’re proper mad, you know?” Zayn popped a cigarette from the box and slipped it between his lips.

“Excuse me?”

Zayn grinned, cigarette following the upwards movement. “Yeah, mate. I would’ve snogged him the minute he called me darling.”

Harry groaned. He was still beating himself to death about it. About how close Louis’ lips had been to his. About how he could taste the mint and alcohol on his breath. About how they basically, technically held hands for the entirety of the exchange. About how all of that was true and he hadn’t fucking leaned in and kissed the soul out of him.

“I want to snog him, Zayn,” Harry whined, pressing his head into the junction of Zayn’s neck.

“Snog who?”

Both boys whipped around to find a tall, built boy staring back at them with curious brown eyes.

“Liam,” Zayn breathed, the lovesick in his voice too thick to ignore. Harry nudged him and grinned suggestively at his best friend like the little shit he was and proceeded to fling himself onto Liam in an overzealous hug.

“Woah there,” Liam chuckled, catching Harry with ease and patting his back softly.

“Hi Liam,” Harry said into the firm muscle between his shoulder and neck. He pulled back, all smiley and flirty, and pressed a friendly kiss to his stubbly cheek. Liam chuckled and released his hold, keeping a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Who’d you want to snog, Harry?” he asked with an amused smirk.

Harry blushed and Zayn snickered at him, giving him a raised eyebrow in warning of his next words. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and inspected it between his fingers with a dangerous smirk.

“He wants to snog Louis Tomlinson so hard they both end up—”

Harry yelped and ran forward to slap his hand against Zayn’s mouth. They settled each other with competing gazes, Harry’s eyes screaming about how he was going to murder Zayn in his sleep while said boy leveled him with a cool gaze full of mirth.

“Louis Tomlinson, eh?” Liam said, tossing his arm around Harry and bringing him in for an awkward, manly hug. “Yeah. He’s, uh, he’s one of the lads.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He’s bloody attractive, Liam, shuddup.”

Liam squinted adorably, the dimple atop his cheekbone deepening when he grimaced. “I don’t see it, though. He’s a five, if that. A menace to be around.”

Harry slapped him harshly. “Don’t talk about him if you’re not going to appreciate his prettiness.”

Liam gave him a hurt look, rubbing the spot like a baby. “Alright. He’s pretty, I guess. But that doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a right arse.”

Zayn let out a shriek of laughter when Harry turned red with anger and leveled Liam with a deadly glare.

“Alright,” he said through his teeth, digging his fingers into the spaces between Liam’s ribs, “That’s. Enough. Out. Of. You.”

“Shit, Li. Don’t mess with the chihuahua,” Zayn laughed. Harry snapped his glare towards him but after a few seconds of watching the dark haired boy throw his head back with boyish glee, he couldn’t help but melt into fondness. He was laughing the laugh where his tongue reached the roof of his mouth and poked out from under his teeth. Harry loved that laugh with all his heart.

“Fuck off,” Harry grumbled as Liam ruffled his hair and pulled him in for a humoring hug.

“Sorry, mate,” Liam laughed into the crown of Harry’s head, nuzzling his curly locks.

“Li, are you free this evening?” Zayn asked, popping the lid of his lighter and lighting the cigarette between his lips.

“Yeah, sure,” Liam frowned. They all hated when Zayn smoked, but the stubborn lad was far from quitting.

“Right, I’ve got this poetry thing. You might as well come,” Zayn took a drag and blew it to the side. A strand of thick black hair fell over his face and for a second Harry wondered why he wasn’t in love with his best mate. Zayn was fucking fit, everyone knew that. But there were moments when Harry wondered why he didn’t just snatch Zayn up the minute they met.

“Might as well, yeah.”

Right, that’s why. Because Zayn was sickeningly in love with Liam James Payne and Harry had the biggest fucking crush on Louis Tomlinson.

Zayn giggled a bizarre, happy response and Liam shook his head, a fond look crossing over his face. He patted Harry once in the back, hard enough to make the boy lurch forward awkwardly.

“Right, I’m off to class. I’ll text you then, Malik?”

“Yeah, alright,” Zayn nodded, waving Liam off as the lad jogged away to make it to his next class.

The two boys continued their walk, bumping into each other occasionally and brushing shoulders like two little boys in love. Maybe Harry was a little bit in love with Zayn.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! thank you for reading. i've been working on this for a while, and didn't muster enough courage to publish it until now, so i hope you enjoyed it! i don't expect this to be very long, though i technically haven't finished it yet so we'll see where this goes!
> 
> until next time,  
> n.


	2. Chapter Two

Harry arrived at his flat after his afternoon lecture, tired and disappointed. He had wanted to stop by the university coffee shop on the way but he’d left his room fifteen minutes late and had to run all the way across campus just to make it on time to the damn lecture. On the way back, he found out the café had been closed an hour early because of some unknown reason. Harry had fumed for a bit, reading the closed sign over and over before trudging away.

“You look a mess, mate.”

Harry yelped and stumbled forward onto the floor in surprise. The book in his hands slid across the floor, and the laptop in his bag lurched forward and smacked into the back of his head.

“Fuck!”

Harry looked up to find Niall rushing over with a concerned look on his face. He glared up at the boy as he took the outstretched hand and hauled himself up. He dusted his jeans off and folded his arms to stare at his best friend with scathing annoyance.

“What the fuck’re you doing back so early? Thought you had a class now?” Harry raised an eyebrow, his right eye twitching with the need to let out all of the building frustration and stress inside of him at the moment.

Niall shrugged, playing an air of nonchalance that tickled the tips of Harry’s fingers.

“Did you bunk off class?” Harry asked incredulously.

“I’ve not been feeling well, mate,” Niall ran a sheepish hand through his fading blonde hair, “And I just wanted to chill for an evening and let the queasiness out.”

Harry frowned. Okay, he could be angry at the whole world, but the thought of Niall sick had him slightly worried.

“What’s happened, then?”

The blonde boy pouted. “I dunno. Just kind of woke up and felt fine but then I was showering after you left and suddenly felt like I was going to be sick.”

Harry raised a gentle hand to his friend’s forehead, gingerly pressing down to feel for a temperature.

“ _Did_ you puke?”

“Oh, no,” Niall scoffed, brushing Harry’s hand away and turning around to flop back onto his bed.

“Niall,” Harry let out a soft sigh, dropping his bag onto the floor and going over to settle at the foot of Niall’s bed. He grabbed a hold of one of the other boy’s calves and planted a small kiss on his fucked up knee.

“Why’d you walk in here looking like a thunderstorm, mate?” Niall asked, his voice muffled from his pillow.

Harry immediately remembered his anger and grumbled, “Wanted to get coffee.”

Niall sat up and regarded Harry with a clearly confused face. “Okay?”

Harry folded his arms and pouted petulantly. “It was closed.”

Niall let out a breath and chuckled before pulling Harry into a warming hug. Harry huffed and settled into Niall so that his head was in the other boy’s lap. Niall laughed softly, stroking the curls out of Harry’s face and leaning back against the wall. They were nestled together comfortably, Harry’s legs draped across Niall’s legs and slightly hanging off the bed. He still had his boots on and Niall actually looked pretty pale but neither of them had the heart to get up or move. They were warm and they both needed the cuddles and it just felt really nice.

Until an incessant knocking interrupted the silence and they both jumped in surprise. After a few moments the knocking stopped and two boys tumbled through the door.

“Ow, fuck?” Zayn exclaimed as Liam fell on top his thinner frame. Liam looked down and apologized before lifting himself onto his arms to roll over. Only they both lay frozen in that position, Liam hovering face-to-face over Zayn, both boys wide-eyed and full of tension. Harry and Niall both took one look at the mess in front of them before rolling their eyes and settling back into their cuddle positions with grumbles and groans.

“I-I told him it would be unlocked, Haz, but he insisted on knocking and banging the door down,” Zayn cleared his throat after he pushed Liam off with a hidden reluctance.

Harry rolled his eyes and asked Zayn what exactly he wanted, his voice muffled into Niall’s shirt.

Zayn explained how they had seen a pretty boy who looked an awful lot like Louis flirting with and practically snogging a taller boy that most definitely didn’t look like Harry and how they immediately came searching for the other lad because _he_ wanted to snog Louis and that might be a problem now.

Harry shot up. “What?” he asked in a quiet, deadly voice.

Zayn shrunk back into Liam’s chest.

There was a quiet tension in the room, Niall reaching out a hand to stroke Harry’s curls in an attempt to diffuse it.

The anger from before flared up in short, painful bursts. Harry felt like crying. He didn’t _like_ being angry. Couldn’t help it, he was only human, but if it were up to him he would never have to get angry ever. It just drained too much out of him. It never ended good, either.

He sat there for a few seconds, fuming inwardly and levelling Zayn’s beautiful face with an ice cold glare.

“So he doesn’t want to snog me?” Harry asked in a disbelieving voice. He shrugged half-heartedly and brushed Niall’s hand off before getting off of the bed and flopping down amongst his own bedsheets. “Thought he did, but I thought wrong I suppose.”

Zayn whimpered and shook his head. “Didn’t mean to make you upset, Haz. Just wanted to tell you.”

Harry nodded and waved him off with a dismissive hand. “Yeah. S’alright.”

A thin body landed harshly on top of him and Harry hissed as he held his hip and blinked at a pouting Zayn Malik rubbing his cheek against his tummy.

“I’m sorry, Haz. We can go beat the shit out of him if you want?”

Harry frowned. “Wait, what? No, no, no. Fuck, no. He’s too pretty. What the hell Zayn? It’s not his fault he doesn’t want me.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “He wants you. He does. You want him.”

Harry rolled his eyes back. “Yeah and that other bloke you saw. And probably some other lads as well. Probably all the other fucking lads who can actually flirt properly without making right fools of themselves,” he ranted, grabbing a pillow and sinking further into it with each word.

“They’re all proper capable of giving him a nice, long snob,” Harry said sadly, picking at a loose thread hanging off the corner of the shitty old pillowcase.

“There’re other fish in the sea, Harry,” Liam offered kindly. Harry didn’t want any other fish. He wanted Louis. So he threw a pillow at Liam’s head. Only, he had shit aim (was shit at anything athletic, really) so it flopped onto the floor lamely beside Niall’s bed.

Zayn ran a hand through Harry’s hair gently, caressing the knots out of his curls. And if Harry pretended that they were Louis’ hands for a moment, then it was nobody’s business.

“I’m sorry, Haz,” Zayn murmured sadly. Harry closed his eyes and nuzzled into his pillow.

“It’s quite alright, Zayn. I just need a moment,” he said all too politely. He wanted Louis. He wanted to lick the sunshine on the boy’s lips and find out what his smile tasted like.

He was sure it tasted as sweet as it looked.

————

Harry was sat in class, a tired Ella on his right and the beautiful back of Louis Tomlinson’s head in front of him.

“I fucking hate this class,” Ella grumbled, pushing her dark curly hair behind her ears and blinking her eyes rapidly as if she were trying not to fall asleep.

Harry shrugged and offered her a sip of his tea. She scoffed at it in a manner that was inherently more fond than anything else.

“Only you would bring an actual _mug_ of Yorkshire tea to class,” she offered him a lopsided laugh. Harry smiled and admired her imperial features. She had thin lips that always seemed to pout and cheekbones that cut across her face beautifully. Her face was angular and serious and truth be told, he had been quite scared of her when she had sat down next to him that first class. However, as time passed, her face softened and Harry found her to be a wonderful friend to pass the time with.

“Is that Yorkshire?” a light voice asked, tilted slightly with amusement. Harry whipped his gaze from his desk to the boy in front of him.

Louis Tomlinson was looking at him with blue, blue eyes and a slightly uneven smile gracing his lips. His arm was slung over the back of his chair in a boyish manner that made Harry’s heart skip a few beats.

“Um, uh,” Harry cleared his throat and started nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s uh, it’s Yorkshire.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Harry frowned and nodded. “Yeah, um, I woke up late this morning, so I just brought it to class. Can’t go through my day without a cuppa. I just get all—”

“Right, curly,” Louis drawled, interrupting Harry’s nervous babbling with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. His lips twitched, threatening to go from a smile to a full-blown smirk. Harry didn’t think he would survive if Louis were to smirk at him like that so early in the morning.

“That’s my favorite,” the other boy said softly, a sudden gentleness rocking Harry to the core.

“Oh,” he stared, dumbfounded and blushing, unable to tear his eyes away from where Louis fingers were gently running across the edge of the chair.

“Did you _know_ that?” Louis asked with a slight incredulous tone. His eyes shined and for one second, Harry wondered if Louis wanted him to know. If Louis wanted him to be so caught up in his blaring crush, that he decided to bring Louis’ favorite tea to class just to peak the boy’s attention.

Harry shook his head slowly.

“It’s true,” Ella offered suddenly, jolting Harry out of his Louis-induced trance. “He becomes something else if he doesn’t get his fix.”

His _fix_. Harry’s pretty sure the only days he ‘became something else’ were the days, coincidentally, Louis had decided not to show up to class. And Harry’s pretty sure Ella had picked up on that, intelligent girl that she is.

“I do not,” Harry tried to conceal the confused furrow of his brow as comedic indignance.

Ella laughed and brushed her hair behind her shoulder in a suspiciously flirtatious way.

“He _does_.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, watching Ella with a playful gaze.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, just loud enough to be heard and just soft enough to make Harry’s stomach grow wings and fly out through his throat.

Before any of them could open their mouths again, the professor called out to begin the class and Harry had to spend the next three hours squirming in his chair and scanning the back of Louis’ head for something to ease his sudden restlessness. He couldn’t stop conjuring  a horribly domestic image of Louis leaning against a black kitchen counter in soft sweatpants and holding a steaming cup of yorkshire tea in his lovely sweater paws.

“Harry?”

Two delicate fingers poked him forcefully in the cheek, sending him spiraling from the clouds and back into the uncomfortable classroom chair.

“Harry?” Ella called teasingly.

He blinked and drew his eyebrows in, noticing that Louis Tomlinson was no longer in his seat.

“Yeah, um, is—”

“Class is over, sleeping beauty,” Ella offered a gentle laugh and patted Harry’s shoulder.

“Oh.”

He let out a sigh and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, jutting his chin down in childish sleepiness.

“Come on, Harry,” she patted his shoulder gently as he gathered his things and got up slowly.

“Dunno why I’m so tired,” he tried to explain his lack of attentiveness. Ella smirked and gave him a knowing wink.

“Can’t dream about other boys without sleeping, now.”

He threw her a horrified look, a melodramatic hand on his heart. She laughed boisterously and he watched her aggressively gesticulate her amusement with a growing warmth in his chest.

He rolled his eyes, pushing away the fondness in his chest. 

“Shuddup.”

————

Louis got a haircut. Harry couldn’t breathe.

It was still long and feathery on top, brushing against his dark eyebrows in ways that made Harry’s heart flutter. But the sides were now cut short, almost shaved completely. Harry watched as Louis combed a couple thin fingers through his fringe and brushed it to one side as he tilted his head boyishly.

“ _Shit_ ,” Zayn murmured appreciatively. Harry nodded. They were both currently laid out on the open grass, watching Louis look like a model with his friends on the other end of the lawn.

“Do you think he’s loud?” Zayn pondered blankly. Harry frowned.

“What?”

Zayn hummed. He met Harry’s eyes with an odd glint of curiosity. “In bed, I mean.”

Harry choked. He spluttered and some of the orange juice he’d been sipping on dribbled unattractively down his chin.

“I think he would be,” the other boy mused as Louis threw his head back in full-bodied laughter. 

Harry felt dizzy.

“What— _fuck_ —what the hell?” he cried when he found his voice again. Zayn smirked at him as he took a drag from his cigarette and lazily blew out the smoke. He was a sexy piece of shit, that Zayn Malik. Harry both loathed and adored that about him.

“I mean, it’s not hard to deduce, is it?” Zayn said. Harry wanted to slap him.

“ _It’s not hard to deduce?_ ” he asked in a shrill whisper.

Zayn simply shrugged and looked pointedly over to where Louis was playfully tackling one of his mates with athletic ease. Harry swallowed harshly as the thin long-sleeve top the other boy was wearing rode up deliciously over his stomach.

_Wow._

“Oi!” Zayn called out, startling Harry out of his fixation of smooth tan skin and sunshine laughter. “He’s only your future boyfriend. _I’m_ your _current_ boyfriend. Look at _me_.”

Harry grinned, looking back at Zayn’s pouting face. He reached out to slap Zayn’s face away playfully. The other lad pouted deeper, his full bottom lip curling enough to almost touch his chin.

“Jealousy is not a good look on you, baby,” Harry sang sweetly, bringing his hand down over Zayn’s hair. 

“No!” he shrieked, reaching out to fix his hair. Harry laughed deviously, launching himself onto the other boy and raining hell down on his hair with his fingers.

“Harreh! Harreh, stop it!” Zayn screeched, a few begrudging giggles escaping his mouth. Harry only laughed louder, moving his fingers down to Zayn’s armpits.

“Hazza, stop tickling me!”

He relented after a while, too out of breath to continue on his torture. Zayn was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling underneath Harry’s thighs. 

“You’re heavy,” Zayn winced. Harry made an affronted sound and swatted the dark-haired lad’s chest with the force of a 60s rom-com actress.

“Seriously,” Zayn gasped melodramatically. “You’re going to crush me. You’re going to kill me.”

Harry fought off an amused smirk. “Well, you’re not my boyfriend so I don’t give a shit.”

Zayn sat up suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Harry let out a surprised squeak as he slid down from Zayn’s chest right into his lap.

“I’m not your boyfriend.”

Harry shook his head with a knowing smile.

Zayn rolled his eyes and looked to the heavens as if the answer to true happiness was written in the clouds.

“Then tell me, my dearest not-boyfriend, why exactly did I get you this?”

Harry looked down as Zayn retrieved a small pouch from his jacket pocket. The dark velvet looked enticing between his fingers and Harry eagerly waited with an open palm. Zayn placed the pouch into Harry’s hand with reverence, which only excited Harry more.

“What is it, then?” he asked breathlessly.

Zayn smiled, not a trace of mischief in his eyes. “Open it, mate.”

Harry grinned excitedly, pulling the strings to the opening of the pouch and watching as a heavy silver ring tumbled down into his palm.

Harry gasped sharply. It was a rose ring. One he’d been eyeing for a while now in a nearby antique store.

“Oh,” he murmured softly. He watched the sunlight glint off of the enticing grooves of the petals and smiled. He looked back up to Zayn’s face with a gentle puff of laughter. He fixed the other boy with a slightly incredulous, utterly grateful stare.

“I adore you, Haz,” Zayn all but whispered, tucking a strand of curly hair behind Harry’s ear. “I really do. And Tomlinson is a catch. He’s fucking fit. But—”

Harry whimpered. “Yeah, I know.”

Zayn sighed, running a hand through his hair and then cupping Harry’s face in his hands urgently.

“I swear it. I wouldn’t make something like that up.”

“There’s an explanation for everything,” Harry tried to reason weakly.

They watched each other for a while before Zayn smiled and dropped his hands away from Harry’s face. “Yeah, okay. But if anyone hurts you, I hope you know the hell I am capable of.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

“I mean it.”

Harry watched the earnest glimmer in the other boy’s eyes and felt suddenly warm. A blooming adoration spread from his chest through his fingertips.

“I adore you too, Zaynie,” he said shyly, fingering the brilliant silver rose ring in his hand. Zayn let out a startling, uninhibited bark of laughter and ruffled Harry’s hair.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

Harry frowned. “I didn’t mean it in _that_ way—”

“I know,” Zayn regarded him warmly. “Put it on, Harreh.”

Harry put it on his right ring finger happily, letting out a satisfied sigh as it glimmered in the sunlight.

“It suits you,” Zayn mused. Harry rolled his eyes and pushed him away. Zayn yelped and tumbled backward, his arms buckling and reaching to catch Harry against his chest.

“You really are such a fucking menace,” Zayn grumbled through a mouthful of Harry’s hair. Harry winced and sat up, patting the other boy’s chest sympathetically.

“Curly?” a bright, breezy voice came from behind them and Harry went rigid, recognizing that boyish lilt instantly.

Louis Tomlinson was stood in front of them in all his sunshine glory fidgeting with his thumbs, an endearingly bashful demeanor about him.

“Yes?” Harry asked all too primly, an over compensated attempt at nonchalance. He felt Zayn jab him harshly in the ribs and he clenched his jaw. He shot Zayn a withering glare before turning back to the beautiful sunny boy before him.

“Um, how are you?” Louis rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze fixated on the green grass at his feet.

There was a distinct pause. Harry watched him incredulously. Had he come all the way over here just to ask Harry how he was doing?

“I’m not sure,” Harry trailed off, hoping to prolong the conversation. Louis was suspiciously keen on not making eye contact with him and that. That just wouldn’t do.

“Louis?” Harry called out gently.

  “I was wondering if you were busy,” Louis said softly and Harry’s heart leapt. “But I’ve a feeling I already have an answer. And I don’t want to impose.”

Harry shared a confused look with Zayn who only looked back at him with a mirrored expression.

“Mate, what are you on about?” Zayn chuckled, a hint of a frown on his face.

Louis shrugged and a small smile played beautifully along his thin lips. “The lads and I are playing some footie later on and you’re welcome to join.”

Zayn let out a sharp laugh that startled both Harry and Louis. Both boys watched as Zayn threw his head back with deep rumbles of amusement. Harry had the sudden urge to slap the boy.

“Harry’s proper shit at football,” Zayn declared through wheezing breaths and watery eyes. His laughter was loud and obnoxious as ever, “It’s fucking funny to watch, though.”

Harry slapped a hand over the boy’s mouth. He shot him an _I will fucking kill you_ glare and pushed him back to the ground.

“I will have you both know that is not true and that at the end of the day anybody who says otherwise— _Zayn_ —is a jealous prick,” Harry announced shrilly, pinning Zayn down by his shoulders and looking up at Louis with a determined expression on his face.

“Right,” Louis muttered with amusement. His eyes were glittering oceans and Harry frowned when he saw a dark tint of pain coloring them. “Well, you’re both welcome. We’re just over there.”

Louis pointed over to where he had been with his friends that afternoon. Zayn nodded vigorously.

“Oh we know,” he said breezily and Harry slapped him again.

“We’ll be there, Louis,” Harry announced breathily, an impatient quality to his tone.

Louis beamed unexpectedly, his hands reaching out in front of him in an aborted movement of excitement. He blanched for a moment, mouth opening and closing, before he let his arms fall by his sides and offered Harry a friendly smile.

“Okay,” he said, happiness evident in his bright, boyish voice.

Harry smiled back, watching the other boy turn around and jog over to his friends. A comforting warmth spread through his chest as he watched Louis simply just exist, laughing and bantering with his friends.

“You know, Harreh, I bet his arse looks even nicer when he’s kicking some balls around.”

Harry slapped him.

————

Harry was shit at football. There was no getting around that fact. He was currently laying breathless on the grass on his back, strands of sweaty hair curling around his neck and ears. He could hear Zayn whooping and yelling like an overzealous teenager. 

After a few moments, Harry sat up on his elbows, watching the frustratingly endearing scene before him. 

Zayn was on Louis’ back (the two had become suspiciously close over the course of the two games they’d played so far) with one arm up in the air, fist pumping in pride. Louis himself was running across the field in haphazard figure eights, laughing uncontrollably. Harry noted that they looked good together, Louis and Zayn. His best mate had put his long hair up as well, only Harry’s pretty sure that the other boy’s bun looked effortlessly more perfect than his did. The dark-haired boy’s olive skin matched wonderfully with Louis’ golden tan complexion. They were both sweaty and boyish, possessing a kind of more-than-brotherly charm between them that made something inside of Harry break.

“Tomlinson, you’re a beast,” Zayn howled. He was now stood on the ground. He clapped a hand against Louis back and glanced over at Harry.

“Oi, Harreh! Get over here, love! Come congratulate your man,” Zayn laughed obnoxiously. Harry rolled his eyes and got up, almost missing the way Louis immediately flinched away at Zayn’s words.

Harry frowned, a nagging curiosity tugging at his heart as he lazily strided over. He shook his head, strands of hair coming loose and flying about. He leveled Zayn with a playful grin, folding his hands together suggestively. Zayn rolled his eyes just as Harry caught Louis’ oceanic stare.

“With my knowledge and understand of the football game, I feel like I should be a lot better at football,” Harry mused, a small smirk on his face.

Louis let out a short, breathy laugh. “Yeah, curly.”

Harry turned to Zayn. “Congratulations on literally doing nothing.”

Zayn scoffed as Louis cackled, throwing an arm around the other lad.

Harry watched them with only a little bit of suspicion in eyes. “Louis, congratulations on scoring the winning goal.”

Louis’ eyes sparkled and Harry suddenly couldn’t breathe. _What even was this boy?_

“Thanks, curly,” the sunshine boy said to him. Harry barely mustered a smile in response, still caught up in rapture of Louis’ boyish beauty.

“Well,” Zayn called out, stretching out and arching his back oddly sensually. Harry watched as he brushed a few dark locks out of his face with the kind of celestial confidence that only came with being _Zayn fucking Malik_.

“That was entirely too much fun,” he said teasingly. He shot Louis a cheeky grin, his warm hazel eyes lightening a few shades to appear almost golden. “Now I’ve got to go balance it out with some academic shit. Gonna go study and stuff.”

“Sure, lad,” Louis returned the cheeky grin with one of his own and Harry genuinely wondered how he hadn’t crumpled to the ground yet. His knees went unbearably weak as a flash of Louis’ wonderfully white baby dinosaur teeth graced Harry’s vision.

“Um,” he croaked, “I think I’m going to go do the same. I’ve got another test coming up in my art class.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Already got exams, then?”

Harry winced. “Yeah, kind of.”

Louis watched him for a second and Harry suddenly felt the need to fix his hair and change outfits. Blue eyes darted between him and a lazily stretching Zayn beside him before finally glancing down at the ground. There was a moment of defeat in them that Harry caught before they looked away, and it made his stomach turn uncomfortably.

“Is—is something wrong?” Harry asked gently, quietly. Louis looked up sharply, almost immediately shaking his head.

“It’s alright, curly. Good luck on your test, then. And Zayn you better get your fine arse back here again for another session of footie. You’re a riot, mate.”

Zayn rolled his eyes before laughing and pulling Louis into a disgustingly brotherly hug. Harry had to hold back a scoff, watching the two act like long lost best mates.

“Oi,” he called out a moment later when they hadn’t pulled back from the embrace yet. Zayn looked at Harry, startled.

Harry huffed and stomped his foot on the ground with childish conviction. 

“ _Zayn_.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow, a flicker of understanding running through his face. He smirked and squeezed Louis one more time before stepping back and letting go of the other boy altogether.

“Sorry, Lou. Harold’s a bit of a princess.”

Harry could have shot knives from his eyes if he wanted to. He _really_ could have.

“ _Lou?!”_ He hissed into Zayn’s ear, half tempted to bite it off.

He could feel the smirk on Zayn’s lips before he could see it. That utter _prick_.

“Harold?” Louis tried out and Harry instantly fell in love with the way it rolled off his tongue.

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard that,” Louis mused. “Well, Princess Harold, I wish you all the luck.”

Harry died in that moment. Partially out of embarrassment. Partially out of pure adoration.

And a little out of spite of Zayn.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! thank you for reading! sorry for any typos, i sort of wrote some of this on a random surge of inspiration.  
> and, i'll say this as a disclaimer now, i don't go to school in the UK and i have never been to the university of manchester (i kind of just used it as a physical place for the fic, but i'm really just imagining my own campus) so i'm going off of my best knowledge here :)  
> i hope you enjoyed the chapter, though.
> 
> until next time,  
> n.


	3. Chapter Three

 

“I think something’s wrong with him,” Harry thought out loud, voice slower and deeper than usual.

Niall whipped his head from the football match on the mini television in their room.

“What?”

Harry looked over at Niall. The boy was lazily dressed in a pair of horrible green boxers and thick gray socks and Harry held back a smirk when he found that he could see Niall’s right nipple through the gaping arm hole of his ratty vest top.

“Fuck it, no!” Niall gasped suddenly, a hand held over his heart and another grabbing his hair. He looked positively stricken. Harry glanced at the screen. Something bad must’ve happened.

“Niall,” Harry called out patiently. The blonde nodded, eyes glued to the screen and holding up a hand to Harry.

Harry huffed, folding his arms and watching the telly with an uninterested pout.

After about twenty minutes, Harry’s eyes were starting to droop out of sheer boredom. He had meant to keep his attention on the telly to prove a point to Niall, whatever that point was. Instead, he found himself jolted from his semi-conscious state by a rather loud and purposefully out-of-tune karaoke version of _Raspberry Beret_.

He looked to his phone to find Zayn lit up on the screen. He rolled his eyes and picked up.

“I was just thinking about your ugly face. What do you want?”

An affronted gasp sounded from the other line. Harry smiled slightly, unable to help the fondness at the other boy’s melodramatic persona.

“I get you a ring and you greet me with a ‘what do you want’?”

Harry laughed. “I love your ugly face. What do you want?”

Zayn huffed on the other end, a little too lightly to not have been smiling while doing so.

“I’m sorry. I love you. You’re absolutely exquisite. What do you want, baby?” Harry sighed out dramatically as he got up to flop onto his bed in a heap of sleepiness.

“I want you to come to my studio. It’s on the twelfth floor. Mine’s the third one down on the right.”

Harry frowned. Zayn had never invited him to his studio. In fact, the lad had never let _anyone_ into his studio. 

“What’s happened?” Harry asked, picking at a loose thread on his jumper.

Zayn sighed. “I need your opinion.”

“Can’t you just, like, send me a picture?”

Zayn huffed. “No, Harreh. I need you, okay. Just get your flat arse over here.”

“My arse is not flat,” Harry replied haughtily.

“Just get over here, please,” Zayn chuckled. He almost sounded tired and that left a tiny niggling of worry in Harry’s chest.

“Okay, babe,” he said softly, getting up and reaching out for his coat slung across the back of the couch.

“Thanks, love,” the other boy sighed out. Harry’s heart hurt a little bit and he rubbed at his chest unconsciously.

“I’m coming, Zee. See you’re gorgeous face in ten minutes?” 

Zayn let out a faint but lovely laugh. “Yeah. See you, babe.”

“See you,” Harry mumbled. The little niggling had grown into a fully flourished worry and he hastily put on his coat and laid a wet kiss onto Niall’s forehead.

“What the—wait, where are you going?”

“Up to Zayn’s studio. Said he needed me.”

“Oh,” Niall pouted in thought. The sight was entirely too endearing and Harry felt his heart grow three sizes just by looking at the boy. He just absolutely adored Niall.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back but I’ll definitely come bearing dinner, sound good?”

“Or, uh, I can cook?” Niall offered distractedly, eyes back on the telly.

Harry frowned. “What? Since when do you cook?”

“What?” the boy on the couch scratched absentmindedly at his neck and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Why do you want to cook dinner all of a sudden?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“Hmm?”

Harry wanted to strangle the boy. “What are you cooking, then?”

This time there wasn’t even a response. The stupid Irish boy suddenly reached out to the television screen in front of him in tense anticipation. He stayed like that for a while, halfway off the cushion before suddenly slumping back down more stressed than before. Harry was just about done with it all.

“ _Niall_.”

Niall’s gaze snapped back up at Harry and the stressed furrow between his eyebrows immediately melted into an apologetic expression.

“Sorry, Haz. What was that?” he asked all too innocently.

Harry huffed and ran a hand through his hair in annoyance. “Yes, um, well. You’re cooking dinner.”

Niall nodded carefully. “I am.”

Harry stared for a moment before spitting out, “And it best be good otherwise you’re going to look like a twat. So.”

Niall watched him in confusion. “Uh, okay.”

Harry watched him for another minute and made an angry noise in the back of his throat when the other boy’s blue eyes darted back to the television screen momentarily.

“Fucking bye,” he snapped, whipping his hair as he turned and left the flat with a melodramatic door slam.

————

Zayn’s studio was on the top floor, so Harry was currently stuck in an elevator with three other students who were each holding armfuls of supplies and unfinished artworks. One student was balancing a rather large canvas in his lanky arms. The painting was unfinished but Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the half-painted face of a saddened teenage girl. The background was only roughly sketched out but he could make out the pretty details of hundreds of sunflowers.

“That’s beautiful,” he breathed out before he could stop himself. His cheeks went red and he slapped a hand to his mouth in embarrassment. The students all glanced at him and the one holding the painting met Harry’s apologetic gaze.

The student smiled softly. “Thank you.”

Harry nodded, wincing as he brought his hand down from his mouth a moment later. The student chuckled, a friendly soft glow in his smile.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to a crowd of students. Harry’s eyes widened as four more people managed to pile into the small space, all hard corners and pointy elbows. Everyone squished closer together as the doors closed and Harry found himself face to face with  the student from before.

“Hi,” the boy said softly, their faces close enough for Harry to feel the words against his neck. It tickled.

“Hello,” he answered back, unable to stop the soft blush blooming across his face. He hid into his shoulder shyly, entirely embarrassed.

“Are you blushing?” the boy asked incredulously. Harry shot up to meet his gaze, eyes wide. He immediately started shaking his head.

“What? Of _course_ not—I don’t—”

“I’m Fionn.”

Harry stared for moment too long, mouth still in a pout. The boy noticed and smirked softly.

“What, do you not like the name?”

His heart picked up. “What? No, it’s a lovely name.”

The elevator dinged again, causing Harry to jump slightly. Fionn held back laughter as two students struggled to get off the elevator onto their floor.

“What’s your name, then?” Fionn asked.

“Uh, I’m Harry,” Harry mumbled back after two unbearably awkward moments.

“Hi then, Harry,” Fionn smiled crookedly. The smirk suited him, Harry thought, but it had a kind quality to it that smirks usually didn’t have.

“Who’s in the painting?” Harry timidly asked. Fionn shrugged.

“Technically, it’s my best friend. She’s rather gorgeous and I’m quite fond of her so she’s usually my muse. But. I’m honestly not sure.”

Harry nodded. After a moment, Fionn looked into his eyes unnervingly. Harry realized the boy had wonderfully warm hazel eyes—wet sand castles and half-melted pistachio ice cream. A warm cup of morning earl grey. He had eyes the color of his mother’s favourite tea. 

“Who do you think of?”

Harry shrugged, attempting to put a bit of teasing in his voice. “I don’t know. It’s your painting, mate.”

Fionn grinned. “Right, right.”

The elevator dinged again. The rest of the students shuffled off, bumping canvases and overflowing bags, leaving Harry awkwardly alone with Fionn.

“What floor’re you getting off at?”

Harry looked up from the scuff he was investigating on his boot. “Oh, um. I’m the twelfth floor.”

Fionn raised his eyebrows, smile drooping a bit. “You’re in your third year, are you? A student artist?”

Harry winced. “Not quite. My best mate’s studio is up there.”

“Ah.”

“Are you also a, uh, student artist?” Harry questioned, poshly pronouncing the last two words in lieu of easing the sudden tension. Fionn answered with a small shrug.

Harry waited and then nodded in resolution.

“Oh, well, you’re clearly a very good one,” Harry offered.

The other boy watched him for a minute before something in his eyes broke. He slumped a bit and looked away. “I’m actually, well—technically speaking—not quite a _student_ yet.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Fionn was suddenly skittish, his fingers twitching nervously against the edges of the canvas.

“Um, what—”

“I’m still here, yeah? But ‘m technically not a student.”

Harry frowned. “Uh, okay?”

Fionn stared ahead for a moment, his mouth set in a hard line. “I was brought here because of my work.”

Harry nodded.

“And, like, it’s not that I’m anything special or whatever,” Fionn continued. He gave a soft one-shouldered shrug and looked back at Harry.

Harry nodded again.

“They made me take my GCSE’s early. And I’ve got like a year of this program before I’m an art student.”

Harry nodded and then frowned. “If I’m honest, I’m a bit lost.”

Fionn let out a breathy laugh, his face breaking out into a soft smile.

“So you’re a first year?” Harry asked.

Fionn shook his head. “Not quite. Next year, yeah.”

“Oh.”

The elevator dinged. Eleven flashed above them in red mechanical numbers.

“That’s me,” Fionn said softly. He gave Harry a heartbreakingly soft smile.

“Alright,” Harry smiled back, giving a small wave. Fionn raised a shoulder in response, widening his smile and Harry focused in on the other boy’s teeth. They were oddly perfect and yet something about them seemed unique to the boy’s smile. Like no one else had teeth quite like Fionn.

“So. Yeah, I’ll see you around, hopefully,” Fionn said as he walked out onto his floor. Harry took one last fleeting glance at the painting.

“Maybe you can come see it when it’s done,” Fionn called out as the doors began closing.

Harry nodded. “I’d love that.”

The other boy grinned and nodded to himself, walking down the hall and into a door on the right. Harry slumped back against the wall as the doors closed. He closed his eyes briefly and savored the image of earl grey tea with a dash of milk and honey, swirling around enormous black pupils.

The elevator dinged one final time and Harry stepped out onto the twelfth floor. His boots clipped softly against the linoleum floor as he made his way three doors down to the right.

A painted sign that read, _Private art space: Reserved for_ **_Zayn F**king Malik_** in messy script (the name was written on a piece of blue paper, taped excessively onto the painted sign) hung on a small nail. Harry smiled and raised a loose fist to knock lightly at the white paint-chipped door.

The rusted brass handle turned and Zayn peeked out from behind the slightly splintered wood. He visibly brightened when he saw Harry and immediately grabbed at the lapel of his thin jacket and pulled him inside.

As soon as he was fully inside, Harry let out a slow reverent sigh. 

The interior of Zayn’s studio was breathtaking.

Beautiful calligraphic words littered the walls in English and what he assumed to be Urdu. Half finished paintings hung everywhere like thoughts to return to at a later time. A simple easel stood in the middle of the left half of the room, next to a plush velvet loveseat, where two windows offered a view of the lush gardens surrounding the open commons. It looked particularly ethereal at night as moonlight illuminated everything from each blade of grass to each red-leafed tree branch. An abundance of silvery light also streamed in through the old glass, creating a luminescent scene inside the studio.

“Woah,” Harry breathed out. He moved dazedly toward the windows and found a blank canvas perched upon the easel. Zayn walked over, running a hand through his black hair.

“It’s a pretty view, innit?”

Harry hummed in agreement.

“Well, it gets a bit old after you’ve sketched it and painted it about a hundred times,” Zayn laughed. Harry could still sense the tiredness in the other boy’s voice that he had heard over the phone and he frowned. 

“Are you okay, Zaynie?” Harry turned around to nuzzle his chin into the crook of Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn sighed against him, resting his head against the back of Harry’s and wrapping his arms around the taller boy’s waist. 

“I’m just a bit tired, love. And stressed. Asked you to come over ‘cuz you make me feel better,” Zayn murmured against Harry’s hair.

A tightness reached around Harry’s chest. “I can help too, you know.”

Zayn chuckled softly. “I know.”

He leaned back to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Can you help me with something?”

Harry leveled him with a deadpan look. “Zayn.”

Zayn laughed softly. His fingers wandered down Harry’s neck to the lapels of his thin suede jacket. He slowly pushed it off of Harry’s shoulders, letting it fall boxily to the floor.

“Zayn,” Harry repeated, voice breathy and soft, as the other boy’s fingers began to wander across the semi-sheer blouse he was wearing.

“I can’t find anything. Can’t feel anything,” Zayn whispered urgently, voice taking on a sudden rambling tone. “I tried drawing Liam, took a pretty photograph and everything—and I’ve still got it, don’t know how I managed to convince him to let me take the damn picture, as fit as the fucking lad is, he’s so fucking shy about it, it’s absolutely infuriating—but I just couldn’t, I don’t know. I sat down and everything, almost made something but then—I couldn’t draw him, it didn’t feel like something when I did, you know?”

Harry let out a shaky breath as the other boy untucked the blouse from his trousers.

“What do you need help with, then?” Harry asked softly. He met Zayn’s eyes imploringly, jutting his chin out for a response.

“Can I—” he cut himself off, letting out an aborted sigh. He grabbed Harry’s right hand, turning it and admiring the silver rose sitting on his ring finger.

“Hey,” Harry murmured, catching the boy’s sharp jaw in his other hand. He let his thumb stroke lightly against his stubbled cheek.

“Haz, you can say no,” Zayn said hesitantly.

“To what?” Harry responded, breathy laughter in his tone.

His best friend’s brilliant hazel eyes looked into his and the moonlight illuminated something in them that abruptly stole Harry’s breath away.

They were both alone. In Zayn’s studio. A soft foreign song played at the lowest volume from somewhere in the room. Moonlight dipped everything in a silver glow. Harry’s hands rested against Zayn’s jaw and Zayn’s hands found their place against the softness of Harry’s waist.

It was undeniably romantic, in every sense of the word. Harry found himself recalling everything about the other boy that made him inextricably part of his heart.

“To what?” He breathed out again, instinctively nosing Zayn’s prominent cheekbone.

“Can I draw you, Haz?” Zayn asked quietly, just enough for it to reach Harry’s ears and ignite something fierce in his chest. Harry leaned back.

“You want to draw _me_?” He questioned, a furrow between his brows. Zayn nodded, a hopeful look set in his gaze.

“Why would you—you couldn’t draw _Liam_ , why would you—”

Zayn pressed a palm to Harry’s mouth, wrapping long fingers around his jaw. He regarded him with tired but purposeful eyes, shining a mix of silver and gold in the moonlight.

“Can I draw _you_?”

Harry hesitated. He pouted against Zayn’s palm, who in turn removed his hand to wrap it around Harry’s waist again.

His heart raced at the other boy’s request.

“You want to draw me?” Harry asked again, insecurity filling the spaces between his ribs. His chest hurt with it.

“Yeah,” Zayn said in such a thick boyish tone that Harry melted against his body, wrapping his arms tightly around the other boy’s neck.

“Am I pretty enough for you, _pretty boy_ ,” he giggled softly.

There was no response.

Gentle fingers trailed up Harry’s spine until they tangled roughly in his long hair and tugged at it softly.

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

There was a slight pause.

“ _Pretty boy_?”

Harry giggled against the boy’s neck. “Yeah.”

“God, you’re just,” Zayn leaned back, hand still in Harry’s hair, “you’re just horrible, aren’t you?”

Harry answered with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. He could feel his dimples on full display, his cheeks still slightly pink from the hair tugging.

Zayn shook his head lovingly. “You gorgeous little shit.”

A fiercer blush spread across Harry’s face at the fond jab.

“Can I take this off?” Zayn asked, reverently grabbing the collar of Harry’s blouse.

Realization washed over him suddenly, like falling through thin ice.

Oh. _Oh_.

_Fuck._

“Oh, you—you want to _draw_ me,” Harry stuttered out with wide eyes.

Zayn nodded shyly, slipping his hand underneath the collar and brushing against Harry’s collarbone reassuringly. 

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

Harry swallowed. “Um, yeah. Yeah, I suppose so.”

Zayn smiled brilliantly, teeth flashing in the moonlight. He slowly undid every button until the fabric slipped down Harry’s shoulders and arms, pooling on the floor around their feet.

He stepped back, glancing up and down Harry’s body in an oddly warming way. He tilted his head before nodding to himself as if he’d made a difficult decision.

“I like the trousers, actually.”

Something in Harry screamed out in relief.

“Okay,” he murmured, watching as the other boy moved across the room gracefully to grab a large sheet of paper and a dented tin box.

“Get comfortable. I like doing longer ones.” Zayn gestured to the dark green loveseat as he rolled a tilted table over, pushing the easel aside. He set the paper up against the diagonally elevated surface, facing it parallel to Harry so that he could just see the edges of it from his perch on the small couch.

After a few moments, Zayn dragged over a small wiry stool covered in paint splashes and sat down with purpose, a blocky eraser and thin charcoal stick in hand.

He looked back over at Harry, who was sprawled casually across the extremely comfortable loveseat, one arm slung across his knee and then. 

Everything shifted.

Zayn let out a shaky breath, grabbing the edges of his stool and effectively breaking the charcoal to pieces in his grip. Harry watched in rapture as the other boy’s chest heaved once, twice, and then a third time before he let out a whispered praise of:

“ _Shit_.”

Harry bit his lip, a deep red blush running high on his cheeks and neck. He raised a hand to run through his hair nervously but stopped abruptly when Zayn made a startling, keening noise.

“The _moonlight_ ,” he uttered softly from his perch on the stool. A gallon of earnest devotion spilled suddenly over Harry’s head, down his shoulders and spine, pooling in a sparkling puddle at his feet.

“What about it?” Harry asked softly, mind reeling.

Zayn’s smile was almost pained. It worried Harry a bit, until his heart stopped at the dark-haired boy’s next words.

“Babe. You’re just—you’re _beautiful_.”

Harry could feel his heart thump out against his chest. It was a simple word. Zayn had called him that multiple times, in fact. But it somehow sounded different now. More intense. Like every synonym to ever exist across every language was uttered in unison to that word.

“What?” He whispered. Zayn was looking at him in a way that he had never been looked at before, not by anyone, and it was more terrifying than anything.

The older boy didn’t say anything in response, only shook his head before reaching for another piece of charcoal and beginning to make some lines and tones, occasionally reaching with his eraser to make some edges. It was strangely calming to watch. It pulled Harry out of the racing blur of whatever it was that had just happened.

Zayn thought he was beautiful. Harry’s heart raced at the thought. Of course he did. He’s said so multiple times over the course of the nearly two years they’d known each other. But somehow the thought struck differently now. He ripped his gaze away from the paper beneath Zayn’s ministrations and took some time to absorb all that made up his best friend.

He was especially striking. In the studio, in the moonlight, fingers dusted with charcoal, a streak of black on his jaw, bright golden eyes trained on the paper. His hands were long and graceful. He had long, deft fingers. And almost every inch of him was covered in ink. He was wearing loose sweats slung low on his hips and a black vest top that hung much too big on his lithe frame. His hair, usually so effortlessly styled, was a disheveled boyish mess that Harry found himself falling in love with. Even from his place on the soft loveseat, he could make out the curved sweep of the boy’s eyelashes each time he blinked.

He was beautiful. 

Harry'd known this for a while now. But, for reasons beyond his capacity at the moment, he found himself repeating it in his head like a mantra as he watched him work at the charcoal.

Zayn was beautiful. Zayn was _beautiful_ .   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!  
> i know i said this is a larry story, and it is, i promise. but there's a bit of boyish angsty zarry before because i love them both too. and it's fun to write :)
> 
> until next time,  
> n.


	4. Chapter Four

Niall had fucked it up. Fucked it all up, fucked it all up properly.

“What is this?” Harry seethed.

The other boy had the decency to look embarrassed.

“I tried, Haro—”

Harry held up a finger. “You do not get to call me that right now.”

Niall winced. “It started out okay, but then, I don’t even know.”

Harry stared at him. “You _don’t_ ,” he spat, “even _know_?”

A black chaos was stuck to the bottom of the pan and the kitchen was a right mess. There was spilled flour on the counter, decorated with remnants of paprika and egg shells. Along the corner between the wall and stove, there was a pile of avocado peels and a dirty spoon.

“What were you even making?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Something out of what we had,” Niall offered. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Go away. Put your ugly face somewhere I can’t see it. I’ll order,” Harry snapped, turning his head away.

“Sorry,” he heard Niall mutter before walking away and slumping back down into the sofa.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry muttered before grabbing his phone and dialing their usual takeout number.

“What do you want,” Harry spat out to his roommate.

“The-the usual. No pineapple,” Niall called out timidly.

Harry rolled his eyes, muttering to himself angrily, “ _The only fucking person who does that, who the fuck asks for pineapple fried rice and no pineapple, just have normal fucking fried rice, like what the actual—only the fucking irish, pineapple fucking fried rice without pineapples is just fucking fried rice_ …”

After he ordered, (and half scared the person on the other end away with his lethal tone) he slumped down next to Niall, suddenly exhausted.

“Being angry is _tiring_ ,” Harry let out, a hint of frustration settling in his bones and making them ache.

“Sorry, Haz,” Niall said softly as he carefully scooped Harry up in his arms awkwardly so that Harry’s torso was now diagonally sprawled across Niall’s stomach.

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry mumbled out, tracing a finger down Niall’s nose. “Didn’t mean to go all angry on you.”

They both sat there until Harry became unbearably uncomfortable and he had to sit up again.

“What’s wrong, mate,” Niall murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear.

“Nothing’s wrong, dunno what you’re talking about,” his voice was quiet as he burrowed further into Niall’s shoulder.

“You’re in a right bad mood, Harry. I know something’s up.” Niall coaxed him gently, running his hands through Harry’s hair and massaging his scalp in a way that made Harry want to fall asleep instantly.

“I just feel like I’ve been thrown upside down a couple times.”

“Why’s that, love?”

Harry paused. He closed his eyes, briefly recounting the moment in his mind, replaying it over and over again as much as he could in the span of a second.

“We kissed.” He blurted.

There was a beat of silence as Niall processed.

The blonde boy frowned. “Sorry, what?”

Harry met his eyes imploringly.

“We _kissed_ ,” he repeated.

“I’m not following,” Niall leaned forward, as if to hear Harry better. “ _Who_ kissed?”

“We kissed.”

“But that’s exactly what I’m asking, who is ‘we’?”

“We ki—”

“ _Harry_.”

He didn’t want to say it out loud, because it was already growing to enormous lengths from his stomach to his throat, and if he let it out in the open, it might just take up everything else in existence.

“Zayn.”

“What? What about Za—oh,” Niall’s frown fell and was replaced by an incredulous look, “ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah.”

They sat like that for another moment, letting it sink into the air around them. Harry thought about the nice, warm food that would arrive shortly. It was better than continuing to watch the moving picture of his and Zayn’s kiss on repeat.

“It was bloody romantic,” Harry mused in a serious voice.

“Oh was it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “He’s a good kisser, too, so it was enjoyable. I guess.”

Niall nodded back in response. “Oh. Was it long?”

Harry thought a moment. “No, not really. Though it might’ve lasted longer, I’ve got terrible time perception.”

“You do, you do,” Niall trailed off, suddenly finding a keen interest in the TV remote.

After a few more moments, Harry felt close to suffocation.

Desperation was eating at his voice. “What do you think I should do?” 

Niall sighed. “I dunno, lad, did you like it?”

Harry hesitated before nodding.

“But he’s stupid for Liam and I’m stupid for Louis, and if both of us become stupid for each other, that just throws the whole thing off, doesn’t it? I mean, we’re best friends. I’ve always thought he was fit and all—I mean, have you _seen_ him?—but I never found him, like, as a person to kiss, you know? And I don’t even know if I do now, but he’s bloody good at it and I’m not getting it anywhere else, so I have no idea, and I’m just so fucking lost in it all. I mean, if Louis’ snogging other girls and boys, does that mean I have to, too? To like, get on his level or something?”

“Alright,” Niall cut off his rambling. “Now you’re just talking crazy.”

“I feel crazy, Niall,” Harry whimpered, burying his head in hands. He felt Niall rub his back soothingly.

“It’s a simple question, innit? Do you like the lad or not?” Niall prompted. Harry looked up at him.

“Do I?”

“You tell me, mate.”

“Fuck,” Harry grabbed at his hair, “I hate everything.”

He heard Niall chuckle softly and felt him nuzzle into his hair.

“You’ll be alright, Haz. Just talk to him. It’s Zayn.” 

Harry sighed out melodramatically. 

“Yeah, I suppose.”

There was a pause.

“He’s not a bad choice, you know?” Niall added softly. Harry looked at him and found an earnest hue coloring his blue eyes.

“I mean, you both already act like it, you might as well make it official,” the blonde boy shrugged casually. “I mean, did he kiss you? Or did you kiss him?”

Harry nodded. “He kissed me.”

“Right, then he definitely likes you. He may be stupid for Liam. But he’s in love with you or something. It’s like you were one kiss away from all of that before.”

Niall shifted so he was fully facing Harry, a deep and purposeful tone to his voice. “And now that you kissed, is it so bad to let go of Louis?”

Harry froze. Yes. Yes it was bad to let go of Louis. He’d made future plans of marrying the boy, having children with him, growing old in a house in the country, watching the sunset together while holding hands and sipping disgustingly sweet lemonade.

And then something switched, so fast it made Harry dizzy. All of a sudden, when he looked to his side, neck creaking from old age, he saw a gracefully aged Zayn with a few old speckles and slightly thinner silver hair.

“Oh my god.” he blurted, blinking rapidly out of the terrifying mental image.

“What, what is it?” Niall asked, startled.

“Oh my god, I think I’m in love with him or something,” Harry panicked. Niall chuckled and shook his head.

“I’m serious, Ni!” Harry’s voice was shrill with rising inner chaos.

“Oh you poor pretty thing,” Niall laughed as he threw an arm around Harry’ shoulders and pulled him in for an aggressively loving hug.

“You’ll be fine, H,” Niall murmured soothingly, stroking Harry’s hair and holding him with a kind of loving warmth he never wanted to emerge from.

“You’ll be just fine, everything is going to be just fine. And I’ll be here no matter which way it goes, alright?” Niall continued, words pressed against Harry’s forehead. Harry nodded tiredly.

“Thank you, Ni.”

Niall laughed softly. “No need for that.”

The doorbell rang after a few moments, causing both boys to jump.

“Food’s here then,” Niall sighed getting up. He grabbed his wallet from the counter and opened the door.

“No, no I’ve got it,” Harry groaned as he unceremoniously got up, brushing himself off and pulling his wallet from his jacket pocket.

“It’s alright, Haz,” Niall said, eyes twinkling. “I fucked up dinner, didn’t I? ‘S my treat.”

He grabbed the brown bag and handed over a couple bills to the delivery boy, nodding and saying, “Keep the change.”

Harry sighed and grabbed the bag of food as Niall closed the door behind him.

“Alright,” Harry set the bag down on the mini kitchen counter, “Let’s eat this shit.”

————

Ella was a wise goddess and Harry was unbelievably lucky to have her in his life. On the other hand, Ella was also a sly little shit and Harry was this close to ignoring her for the rest of the year.

“He likes you,” she teased, poking a finger into his ear. Harry shied away, pressing his head to his shoulder.

“Shut up,” he scoffed.

“No, really,” Ella continued, now sticking her finger into his armpit, “He really likes you. Like ignores everyone else’s existence kind of likes you.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “What? No.”

Ella rolled her eyes in response, finally keeping her hands to herself. “Did you not see him while we were all flirting with him?”

“Still don’t forgive you for that. Might murder you all in your sleep,” Harry grumbled.

“Harry,” Ella laughed. “I was proving a point. He’s not interested in other girls and boys. At least not as much as he’s interested in you.”

“But Zayn said he saw him snogging another bloke,” Harry whined petulantly.

“And? Don’t tell me you haven’t snogged anyone recently,” Ella reasoned.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

“Right, yeah, I suppose, yeah,” he mumbled distractedly, shaking his head.

“See?” Ella grinned. “Doesn’t mean you’re not still hot for each other.”

Harry winced. “But, like, what if I’m hot for someone else too? Or, like, kind of warm? Like just slightly above cold?”

There was a pause and Harry looked over to find Ella staring at him incredulously.

“Who did you snog recently?”

Harry grimaced. “Nobody.”

Ella slapped him harshly. “Who?”

“Ow.”

“Harry!” she insisted. Harry wanted to scream and bury his head in a tub of cold water.

“I said nobody.”

“Oh my god, was it Niall?” she practically yelled. Harry looked around, alarmed. They were in a corner of the university library. He watched as a couple heads turned their way before everyone went back to their own work.

“Would you be quiet,” he hissed.

“Please tell me you’re not hot for Niall,” Ella looked like she was about to be sick.

“I’m not hot for Niall,” Harry stated with an eye roll. The idea itself was comical.

“Good.”

There was a brief silence then as Ella checked something on her phone. Harry let out a sigh and looked around distractedly at the surrounding bookshelves. Maybe he should stop by the bookstore and get some good books to read. That would be a welcome diversion from the mess of his personal life.

And then a boy with tattoos and dark hair walked out from behind one of the bookshelves and Harry’s heart tumbled out of his chest and onto the floor.

Zayn held two thick books in one hand and had a pair of old black headphones around his neck. His hair was messy and long and it matched the look his ripped jeans and color blocked shirt gave him. 

Harry let out a long breath.

“Oh my god, it was Zayn,” Ella whispered suddenly into Harry’s ear. Harry yelped, whirling around to find her giving him a sparkling, knowing look.

“No,” Harry denied unconvincingly. His eyes darted back to Zayn and his heart jumped when he found the lad looking at him with a soft smile.

“Hey, Haz,” the boy said gently, making Harry’s tummy twist. “What’re you up to?”

Harry nodded jerkily. “Just, um, studying and stuff. Yeah. You?”

Zayn gave him a small frown, his bottom lip curling down to his chin in a slight pout.

“Just came by to return some books and check out new ones. Dunno,” Zayn shrugged, pressing the two books in his hand against his chest.

Harry cleared his throat and nodded. “Cool.”

Fuck. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be weird between them. Zayn was his best friend. Zayn was his rock. He wasn’t supposed to be a glaring question mark in Harry’s mind. He didn’t know what the boy was to him now.

“Um, uh, I’ll see you around then?” Zayn gave a superficial smile and held up the books in his hand awkwardly before walking back behind the bookcase he had walked out from.

Harry winced.

“That was a shit show,” Ella confirmed with a sage nod. Harry wanted to strangle her for a brief second.

“I don’t know what life is anymore,” Harry whined.

“Okay, toughen up you dramatic little princess,” Ella slapped him upside the head. “I’m going to tell you this once. You have to do the person that makes your hair stand on end and your will to live crumble away—”

“That doesn’t seem—”

“Listen to me. Do the person that gives you that rush, like you can’t help but get caught up in them. Do the person who, like, perfumes your days and nights with, just, pure obsession.” Ella wrinkled her nose. “Or something like that.”

Harry stared at her. “You’re like a shitty angsty millennial poet.”

She awarded him a million dollar smile. “I know. It’s my winning trait.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious, though,” she looked at him with earnest eyes, “Whoever makes your heart dance around in your chest. Whoever you see yourself slow dancing with in the future, that’s your person. It’s not that hard, Harry. Just let this one speak up a bit.”

She tapped a hand against his chest gently and splayed it there, a warm blanket across his heartbeat. He felt light in that moment, so incredibly light after so many days of feeling unbearably heavy. It was euphoric and Harry couldn’t help the unadulterated smile that lifted the corners of his lips.

“You know who your person is,” Ella stated rather than asked. Harry shook his head shyly.

“Don’t think so. Not yet. Just feel light,” he explained, looking down at his hands. “Don’t know who my person is.”

He looked up at Ella and then glanced over at the bookshelf Zayn had disappeared behind. 

“Feel like that’s okay, I think.” 

————

Zayn was standing in front of him, looking at him like he was the last boy on earth. Harry took a deep breath in and out. In and out. He watched as Zayn focused on the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Harry blurted out. Zayn’s eyes darted up to meet his.

“Yeah?” the other boy let out, voice all raspy and kind of delicious.

Harry swallowed. “About, uh, you know.”

Zayn raised a perfect dark eyebrow. “The drawing.”

The tension increased in the air and Harry watched the other boy for a long moment before bursting.

“The kiss, I mean.”

There was an ear splitting silence that followed those words and with each second, Harry wanted to take them back even more.

“The kiss,” Zayn repeated steadily.

Harry nodded. “The kiss.”

“Why’d you say that like it’s some psychological incident and you’re a shrink?”

Harry let out a tight laugh.

“Don’t mean to, sorry. I just—I mean, I just want to—I don’t know. I mean, like—it’s just—” he faltered and let out a strangled whine, “ _Zayn_.”

The other boy nodded. “Okay,” he breathed out shakily.

They stood there for another few painfully tense moments. Harry didn’t know where to start.

“It was nice,” he blurted out, arms outstretched in a pacifying manner.

Zayn laughed, a slight sad tone to the wonderful sound.

“I don’t mean—”

“I know, love,” Zayn said softly. He reached a hand over to smooth one of Harry’s curls against his neck. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Stressing you out. Know you’ve probably been freaking out and overanalyzing things these past couple of days. Sorry I’ve kind of been avoiding you.”

“I’ve kind of been avoiding you, too,” Harry offered sheepishly. Zayn grinned.

“I noticed,” he said.

“I kinda missed you,” Harry admitted quietly. Zayn’s grin vanished and he gave Harry such an earnest look that his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.

“God, of course I missed you too,” Zayn leaned over and they gathered into each other’s arms, bodies wrapped around each other in a familiar way. Harry pressed his nose into Zayn’s neck and savoured the feeling.

“You know, I haven’t actually been here in a while,” Zayn mused out loud, stroking Harry’s hair gently.

Harry nodded. He and Niall rarely had people over. For some reason things always ended up happening at the others’ places. Not that he was complaining. Their flat was tiny in comparison to the others’ and it was consistently in states of varying degrees of cleanliness. Harry hated cleaning up his stuff for others and realized the only person he would ever tolerate cleaning up after was Niall. And sometimes Zayn. (And Louis, although he had made a point to keep the ocean eyed boy far from his mind’s eye).

“It’s been a while since I’ve asked you over,” Harry said softly as they leaned away from each other. He caught himself looking straight into Zayn’s eyes. His heart beat uncomfortably slow until Zayn blinked and broke the momentary trance.

“Yeah. You got anything to eat?” Zayn asked loudly, pulling away and sitting on Harry’s bed. Harry snorted, a sad attempt to cover up his surprise. It felt like someone had violently ripped a bandaid that held all of their pieces together. It felt like they were both trapped in a severely cracked glass box hovering over an abyss.

“What do you want?” he asked with a grin plastered on his lips. He glanced away, a part of him desperate to find something to distract himself with.

“Anything you’ll give me.”

Harry whipped around to look at the boy sitting on his bed. Zayn was giving him a soft, private look, the kind of look he donned whenever he talked about his family and home.

“How’s some cut up mangoes and some warm milk and honey sound?”

Zayn sighed. “What does Niall have?”

Harry smiled, couldn’t help himself. “I’ll throw some frozen chips in the oven?”

The other boy nodded, “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Harry nodded back, as he reached into the freezer and brought out the opened bag of frozen potato chips. He heard Zayn sigh loudly and looked over to find the boy sprawled on the bed in a totally endearing way.

“You want to put a film on?” Zayn called out, examining something on his hand.

“Like what?” Harry brushed aside a lock of hair as he spread out the chips onto a piece of foil. He turned on the oven and grabbed some chili powder from the cupboard. He remembered Zayn’s affinity for all things spicy.

“Like some trashy rom-com?” Zayn said with a breathy laugh.

Harry let out a mocking gasp. “Rom-coms aren’t trashy!”

“Let’s watch one that is,” Zayn said to him with a small smile. Harry rolled his eyes and went back to sprinkling some red powder across the frozen chips and tossing them together. 

Again, something inside of him felt foreboding, like he was about to fall off the edge of the world and everything good was going to come to an end. His chest felt tight and he felt like someone was squeezing the veins in his arms.

After the oven beeped, he stuck them in and set a timer for ten minutes. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and turned to the boy laid across his bed.

“What’s your recommendation, then?”

Zayn thought for a moment, lips twisted and eyebrows furrowed. Harry watched the curve of his waist dip into the mattress and unconsciously licked his lips.

“It Happened One Night?” the other boy asked, a suggestive smile accenting his voice.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “It Happened One Night?”

Zayn nodded.

“But you hate black and white.”

“Eh,” Zayn lifted one shoulder, “I’m growing to appreciate it.”

Harry stared at him. He watched the carefree tilt of his neck, the dark strands of hair that curled around his ears, the soft sweep of his lashes, the glint of his silver nose ring. Everything about him made Harry’s heart sink down to the floor. There were probably heart stains on the hardwood floor that he would have to scrub away afterwards.

“What?” Zayn asked softly, running a hand through his hair. 

Harry shook his head. “Nothing.”

He made his way over to the bed and laid down next to the boy. He stared up at the ceiling carefully and fiddled with the dish towel in his hand. A long silence stretched between them. Harry felt like running outside and screaming. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He could feel the beginnings of something bad in the air and he wanted to hug Zayn close to him in some semblance of saving their friendship from whatever was about to come.

“I’m sorry.”

Harry looked up at him. “What for?”

“Made it all weird.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Zayn nodded. “You’re looking at me all weird.”

“No ‘m not,” Harry mumbled, shaking his head.

They laid there in silence for a few more moments.

“Look,” the older boy twisted over, head resting on his hand and body turned entirely towards Harry. “I’m sorry. I’ll take it back.”

Something in Harry broke.

“Take it back?” he asked tightly.

Zayn nodded. “Yeah. I’ll take it back. I don’t know.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why would you take it back?” Harry asked earnestly.

Zayn shrugged. “It was nice. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I got caught up I guess. You’re with Louis, right? And I’m with Liam.”

Harry stared at him. 

“Nobody is with anybody,” he snapped.

“But—”

Harry slapped a hand against Zayn’s mouth, effectively muffling his words. He glared into honey eyes that glowed in the moonlight streaming in through the window behind them.

“Listen,” he urged, wrapping fingers around stubbled skin, “I think you might be my person, okay? I don’t know in what form or what way. Just. You’re my person.”

Zayn frowned, tilting his head in question. Harry rolled his eyes.

“You’re like, you’re everything, okay?” he continued, staring into the molten syrup that surrounded black pupils. “You’re everything in one place.”

A static moment. Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe. He slowly removed his hand and watched as Zayn licked his lips.

“I don’t know whether I’m supposed to kiss you. Or like, just have drinks with you on  Friday nights. I have no idea. You’re just mine. My person.”

“I’m your person,” Zayn murmured, “I got it.”

Harry wanted to slap him. “No you don’t.”

“No, I do,” the older boy said with an infuriating smile.

“Fuck, Zayn,” Harry huffed. “Don’t be a dick.”

Zayn let out a loud laugh, beautiful and carefree, and Harry watched in absolute rapture. He reached a hand out to run through black hair but instead ended up curling his arm around the other boy’s neck and pulling.

“Shut up,” Harry murmured, their noses almost touching now. He could feel minty breath tickling his lips.

“Okay,” Zayn whispered, all traces of laughter replaced by an intense look.

“Okay,” Harry whispered back.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Harry let out a small laugh. He watched as Zayn smiled softly, eyes tracing the curve of Harry’s lips.

“Okay. I’m your person.”

Harry nodded.

Zayn grinned. “I’m your everything.”

“I never said that,” Harry shook his head.

The other boy nodded, “Yeah you did. You said ‘you’re everything, okay’.”

“Nope,” Harry continued shaking his head, even as Zayn leaned in closer so that their lips almost aligned.

“Yeah, you did,” Zayn murmured, voice deep and rich as the sound cascaded down Harry’s neck.

“I don’t recall…” his voice trailed off as he felt soft lips just above his collarbone. His eyes fluttered shut and he gripped onto firm, slender shoulders. For a split second, he lost all brain function. Then it hit him in waves. A ragged sound came from his mouth and his eyes flew open as Zayn bit down on his skin.

“Sorry, did that hurt—”

Harry grabbed the other boy’s face in both of his hands, cupping tightly until Zayn’s lips and cheeks scrunched up together adorably.

“Please don’t take it back,” he asked imploringly, trying to sound as earnest and persuasive as possible.

Zayn’s eyes sparkled for a moment before he spoke. 

“Well, shinsh you ashked.”

He dove forward and at first Harry was taken aback by the sudden action, but a lightness swept through him as he realized what was happening.

They were kissing. Again. Except this time, Harry was almost prepared. Anticipating it. He had been fixated on this feeling for the past nine days and suddenly he was overwhelmed by just how much he felt it. Kissing Zayn was blissful oblivion and blueberry pancakes and Harry loved it. Absolutely adored every single thing about it.

“Harry, babe, _you’re_ everything,” Zayn murmured, coming up for a breath of air. Harry’s heart felt tight and his chest hurt. He rubbed a hand against his sternum in hopes of easing the discomfort. Zayn looked down and smiled. He swooped down and nosed along each rib until he pressed a firm kiss right above where Harry’s heart was beating out of control. He moved up along his chest until he pressed a kiss right at the base of his neck. Harry felt like flying. He pressed a hand into black hair, gripping it to ground himself in what was happening.

“Like, I know you, yeah?” the older boy continued, talking into Harry’s skin. “And that’s kind of everything, too, you know?”

Harry felt like exploding. A grin split his face, and it hurt to smile so big, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Fuck, of course you’re everything, look at you,” Zayn said as he looked down at Harry, curling a lock of brown hair around his slender finger.

“Look at you,” he repeated, voice softer and making Harry’s insides flutter. Harry didn’t think he could take it any longer. This was ecstatic torture.

A ding sounded and Harry shoved Zayn off a split second later.

“Chips are ready,” he said breathlessly.

Zayn blinked. “Right, the chips, yeah.”

Harry nodded vigorously and got up from the bed. He made his way to the oven and put on some oven mitts before taking the chips out and setting them on a plate. He slipped the mitts off and grabbed some salt to sprinkle over before grabbing a bottle of hot sauce and offering both to Zayn.

“Ready for some tall, dark, and handsome Clark Gable?” the boy raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, why not.”

He reached for his laptop and got comfortable on the bed beside Zayn. He gave the boy a warning look, forbidding him to make a mess of the sheets with his salty fingers.

“Oh, do you want some chips?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, thanks.”

“What! But they’re _everything_.”

Harry gasped, slapped the older boy upside the head and put on Beauty and the Beast in retaliation.

“Oh fuck no, not this movie again. _Harry_.”

Harry ignored him and sang along to the opening number, loudly and right into Zayn’s ear. Fuck, he was right. He was so right. This boy, currently pressing his face into a pillow and giving Harry the finger—he was Harry’s person. 

Undeniably so.

————

They were both back in Zayn’s studio. Harry was patiently sitting on the plush loveseat, awaiting the big reveal.

“It’s still just a beginning. You haven’t shut up about wanting to see it so I’m  _ making an exception _ . I never let anyone see my work before it’s finished,” Zayn said seriously as he pulled a stool with him and settled across from the loveseat.

Harry nodded back. Of course he didn’t. But he was making an exception. For him.

“God, you’re hard to refuse,” Zayn sighed out before flipping the pad and stopping Harry’s heart.

He couldn’t describe it. Not in words he knew. Harry looked at the drawing of himself and blinked, in complete awe.

“Zayn,” he murmured, eyes wide. Tears began to well up at the corners of his eyes. “It’s fucking beautiful.”

Zayn shrugged shyly, “Yeah, well, you kind of are, babe.”

“Shut up,” Harry breathed out.

“Okay.”

He let out a disbelieving sigh and reached out to run his fingers across it, to confirm it was real.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Zayn cut in, pulling the drawing pad away and holding out a hand in warning, “No touching.”

Their hands remained in the air, inches away from each other. Harry swallowed. His throat was suddenly dry and he looked imploringly into Zayn’s eyes as he joined their hands.

“Please don’t say that,” Harry murmured. There was a charged silence and Harry could feel his heart beating out of his chest. Zayn gulped audibly and nodded.

“Never,” the older boy all but whispered. Harry licked his lips slowly before pushing off of the sofa and taking one step to stand directly in front of his person. The folds where his shirt was tucked into his jeans directly opposed Zayn’s lips. Harry leaned in and looked down, making sure there was no more than a few inches between them.

“Harry,” Zayn croaked out, looking up at him. Harry smiled softly.

“You’re beautiful, too, you know? Way too much for me,” Harry mused, taking in all of Zayn's godly features.

The other boy stood up slowly from his perch on the old stool and took a few steps back. He reached behind him and placed the pad on the planning table tucked into the corner. He slowly moved back with excruciatingly careful steps. Harry had half a mind to whine petulantly and pull the boy closer himself.

“Harry,” Zayn sighed out like a verbal comfort as he settled back onto the stool. He brought a trembling hand up to settle against Harry’s stomach. His eyes stayed glued to Harry’s as he leaned in to press a kiss against his hand.

“Zayn.”

The older boy removed his hand, leaving a cold patch that was quickly replaced by soft lips. Harry sighed out involuntarily and tangled his fingers into Zayn’s lovely black hair. His eyes fluttered shut as the boy continued to press his lips across his stomach from sternum down to where his belt set the limit, a line neither of them dared to cross yet.

The kisses began to travel up and Harry opened his eyes to find Zayn’s face less than an inch away. His eyes went cross trying to focus and after a few moments, something in the room snapped.

“Za—”

Their lips met in a pulling, needy chaos that tugged at something in Harry. He gasped and wrapped an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, tightening his grip in the boy’s dark hair. They moved together, hips swaying slightly into each other. Harry let out a small noise before pulling away to press his forehead against Zayn’s.

“Zayn,” he murmured. His eyes were still closed, so he first felt the movement as Zayn ran a finger down his throat before he opened his eyes and watched as the other boy pressed two hands against his torso.

“I’ll be honest right now,” Zayn said, almost as if he was regarding something more than precious. His fingers lightly moved over both of Harry’s nipples and he couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath.

Fuck, he was so out of his depth.

“Um, I’ve kind of wanted to do stuff to you for a while now,” Zayn confessed. Harry nodded slowly like he was understanding. He took hold of Zayn’s hands and moved them down his chest to where his blouse tucked into his pants.

“I trust you, Z,” he said softly, earnestly.

“And?” Zayn smiled playfully, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Harry smiled back, “I  _ want _ you, Z.”

They both shed their smiles in respect of the seriousness of whatever was about to happen. Zayn tucked two fingers into the warmth of Harry’s waistline.

“Come on,” Harry encouraged. Zayn swore under his breath and undid Harry’s belt in a stumbling but quick motion. He then pulled the shirt roughly from beneath his pants and tugged it roughly over Harry’s raised arms.

Fingers ran lovingly over every curve and crevice, bone and muscle. Harry closed his eyes to calm down. It didn’t work, only heightened the sensuality of Zayn’s small ministrations.

“God, I really, really want to do things to you and it scares the fuck out of me.”

Harry laughed breathily, eyes still closed. He felt like pure art, a sensual white sculpture being praised by its creator.

“You make me want you to do things to me when you say stuff like that,” Harry mumbled out. It was Zayn’s turn to laugh.

“What? I honestly didn’t make sense of a word you just said. Especially not with you looking like this.”

Harry let out a soft giggle and grabbed the back of Zayn’s head to pull him forward into a gentle kiss.

“You’re mine,” Zayn murmured against Harry’s lips. He hummed in agreement, melding their mouths together desperately.

“I don’t know what I’d be without you,” the older boy said in between kisses. Harry moaned at that, a soft involuntary sound that had him tightening his grip in Zayn’s hair. Both boys began to get grabby, fisting fabric between them and pinching skin and pulling hair. It was mindless ecstasy, and Harry couldn’t get enough of it.

“Zayn.”

“Mmm.”

“Take off your shirt, please.”

“Yes, darling.”

Zayn stripped half naked in one clean swipe and Harry let out a whimper at the exquisite, sculpted sight in front of him. Fuck, Zayn was too good. Too pretty for him. Too much of an unearthly being to ever come down to Harry’s level.

“Zayn,” Harry whined out, reaching out both of his hands to caress bare skin. But he couldn’t bring himself to make contact, felt like he would mar it with his touch.

“Touch me, darling,” the other boy coaxed. After a few moments of not moving, Zayn laughed quietly and curled a hand around each wrist and pulled gently. Harry moved with it as Zayn placed his hands on his chest and Harry sighed out in tense relief. Something was bubbling inside him, pushing to come out, and he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad.

“Harry, I’m here,” Zayn leaned in as he spoke and pressed a kiss just under Harry’s ear.

“Oh god,” Harry muttered under his breath, eyes slightly rolling back at the tender gesture. It was like he was an open book with this boy. He couldn’t hide anything from him.

“What is it, darling? What’s got you overthinking?” Zayn asked gently, smile still soft and evident on his face as he continued to press kisses all along Harry’s jaw and neck and collarbone. Harry shook his head in response, denying the existence of anything but the two of them.

“Just—” Harry let out a deep involuntary sigh as Zayn’s lips met the soft skin at the junction of his jaw and neck, “—keep doing what you’re doing.”

Zayn laughed in a teasing tone that didn’t bother Harry one bit. He was too distracted to pay attention to anything other than the places where their physical beings met. Arms around his waist. Elbow hooked around his neck. Cheek pressed to the side of his head. Lips pressed to the arc of his shoulder. Feet stepping on each other’s toes.

Harry felt euphoric and full, no other way to describe it. He wanted to stay here forever.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!  
> aaaaaaah. to anyone reading this and whom i made wait—i'm so sorry. i've been meaning to update for a WHILE. life has gotten abruptly busy and difficult since last summer and i haven't gotten a chance to focus on this for a while. a lot has been going on for me in college this year and i totally put this work away until now to focus on other projects BUT with this newfound quarantine routine of being stuck at home, i figured it's better late than never. so i'm making a promise to be back and update.  
> so here's chapter four!! i hope a longer chapter makes up for my terribleness in updating. it's a bit more zarry, a bit more fluffy, a bit more angsty.  
> i hope everyone is staying safe and well! in the meantime, i hope you enjoy the chapter :)
> 
> until next time (which i promise will be soon),  
> n.


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